


Rumor Has It (You're Looking For Love)

by aktura



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec's season 1 shenanigans are the talk of the town, Attempt at Humor, F/M, Gossip, Idris valley girls, M/M, Not Beta Read, Original Character Death(s), POV Outsider, Rumors, Time Skips, Weddings, strong anti-Lydia sentiments from OC, unrequited love (from way afar?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aktura/pseuds/aktura
Summary: Alec Lightwood is on the market, and the girls in Idris are sitting up and paying attention.Or: Alec's season 1 shenanigans, from an Outsider POV.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, canon Lydia Branwell/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 20
Kudos: 282





	Rumor Has It (You're Looking For Love)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this is stupid, but was fun to write. 
> 
> Inspired by the following conversation in s01e08 – _Bad Blood_ :
>
>> **LYDIA** : I can see why all the girls in Idris are clamoring to meet you.  
>  **ALEC** : What do you mean?  
>  **LYDIA** : Rumor has it you’re looking to settle down. Get married.  
>  **ALEC** : Damn it.
> 
>   
> (Are there restaurants in Idris? Staffed entirely by Shadowhunters? ~~I don’t know~~ There are now! (Most of them are rather high end, which is why Jace has never bothered to visit any and as such has no idea what a reservation is)). 

**i.**

As a tenth generation de Warenne, Marion is a member of one of the most prominent Old Families in Idris. They can boast of three Inquisitors in their line, though the latest was nearly seventy years ago; as such, Marion is more concerned with the fact that her family name and fortune means that she can afford to have a standing biweekly reservation at _Restinctio_ , the most exclusive restaurant in all of Alicante. 

_Restinctio_ ’s reputation is not undeserved, as its sixteen course meal truly is something to experience. It’s a once in a lifetime thing for most people, but then there are of course those who can afford several lifetimes worth of experiences, and who soon grow tired of such. They, like Marion, often end up occupying a corner table every Sunday and Thursday afternoon instead, just to pick at a single slice of cake and people watch. 

Granted that this, of course, eventually grows tiresome as well, which is why Beth and Celina both have their own standing biweekly invitations to join Marion at her table – _we are summoned_ , Celina likes to quip, and, while Beth always bites her tongue, she silently agrees that Marion _does_ get quite upset if the two of them don’t show up for their scheduled dessert dates. 

Today, though, it is Marion who is running late. Beth takes the opportunity to order a plate of the assorted chocolate truffles she’s had her eye on the past few weeks, because while Marion is quite generous with her money and always insists on picking up the tab, the same generosity makes her feel entitled to judge people for their food choices – it’s rather freeing, Beth finds, to be able to place one’s order without having someone there to silently wrinkle their nose at it.

When Marion finally does arrive, fifteen minutes late, she has a spring in her step and a very pleased smile on her face. Tall and blonde and dressed to the nines in her tight black dress, she fits right in against the backdrop of _Restinctio_ ’s opulent gold decor and pristine white tablecloths. She catches the attention of one of the waiters as she makes her way through the crowded room, signaling for him to bring her her usual order, and then she joins Beth and Celina at the table, flicking her hair over her shoulders with a flourish. 

“Ladies,” she says, an excited gleam in her eye as she leans towards them, “you will never guess what I just heard!” Giving no pause for Beth or Celina to actually guess much of anything, Marion immediately continues, “Alec Lightwood is officially on the market!”

“Alec Light—?” Beth blinks. “As in the New York Institute Lightwoods?”

Marion rolls her eyes. “What other Lightwoods are there? Do try to keep up, Beth!”

“Sorry,” Beth mutters, picking at one of her truffles. It might have been years, but she still vaguely remembers Alec Lightwood from the Academy; he’d been a year older than her, and she can recall him being a quiet boy, sullen and rather grumpy. He was never unkind to her – or anyone else, from what she knows – but he kept to himself, seeming content to take a step back and let his more boisterous sister and adopted brother hog the spotlight. 

“Anyway,” Marion says, “this is great news – I’ve heard that he’s quite handsome nowadays. Tall and dark, big brown eyes. He ticks all the right boxes.” 

Beth has heard the same thing – that the oldest Lightwood boy has grown into his inheritance well, that is – though Cornelia, who recently accompanied her parents to some kind of Institute function in New York, confided in Beth that Alec was still rather quiet and grumpy, at least in her company. 

“Cori told me that he’s very—” Beth hesitates, searching for the correct word. “—stoic.”

“He _broods_ ,” Celina adds, using her fork to cut a piece off her carrot cake. “And he’s very formal. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him hold a casual conversation with anyone.”

Marion leans towards her, like a dog with its ears perked. “Oh, that’s right. You met him a few years ago, didn’t you?” A devilish smirk appears on her face. “Well, you know what they say about the quiet ones...”

Beth makes a face while Celina rolls her eyes. Marion, however, isn’t paying much attention at the moment, because the waiter has arrived with her coffee and a large, decadent piece of cheesecake that Beth knows her friend will eat all of two nibbles of.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Marion tells the waiter, effectively dismissing him, and then adds three sugars to her coffee. “Either way, it’s completely unfair that they keep him cooped up in the New York Institute.”

“He _is_ set to take over once his parents retire,” Celina points out. “Where else is he supposed to be? Here in Idris?”

“I’m just saying, I imagine it’ll be difficult to find someone suitable in New York.” Marion stirs her coffee with her spoon. “He’ll have to come to Alicante, obviously.”

Celina looks thoughtful, but Beth sighs. “I’ve always believed in marrying for love,” she says.

Marion laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous! It’s different for Old Families like the Lightwoods. Future Institute heads don’t marry for _love_ ; Alec needs someone who’ll help him run the place.” She frowns suddenly, tapping her spoon against her bottom lip. “You know, I might just ask Daddy if he’ll send me to New York for the weekend.”

Celina hums, looking amused. “I can just picture it,” she says. “Marion Lightwood, co-head of the New York Institute.”

Marion looks pleased with what she apparently considers to be an endorsement from Celina. “Just you wait and see. I’ll have him holding all kinds of _casual conversation_ with me in no time! It won’t take much – a well placed touch on his arm, a little giggle, a whisper in his ear... It’s like a dance, not that the two of _you_ would know much about _that_.”

Beth tries to ignore the heat rising in her face, but Celina shrugs, seemingly unbothered. 

“I’ll have to wish you good luck, then,” she says, and while her voice gives nothing away, Beth suspects Celina isn’t being all that sincere. 

“Oh, luck has nothing to do with it,” Marion declares, setting her fork down and pushing the plate holding her cheesecake away from her, still untouched, as she turns her attention to her cell phone. “I’ll have him eating out of my hand soon enough. You’ll see.”

  
**ii.**

The host apparently recognizes Beth on sight by now, because he waves her through with nothing more than a quick glance when she enters _Restinctio_ on Thursday afternoon. As she heads for Marion’s usual table, Beth ponders if this means that she can be considered a regular now, or if that term is only reserved for the people who actually pick up the tab. 

Celina and Marion are already seated in their usual spots when Beth makes it to the table, and while Celina looks content as she sips at her tea, Marion is wearing a rather unbecoming scowl on her pretty face. 

“Lydia _fucking_ Branwell,” she hisses, thumbs furiously pecking away at the screen of her phone as Beth takes her seat. “Special envoy my ass – she got herself assigned to New York simply so that she could sink her grubby little claws into him! And before I even had time to go there myself!”

Celina smiles serenely behind the rim of her tea cup. 

“Is this about—” Beth starts, but Marion interrupts her.

“Alec Lightwood, of course!” she proclaims. “What else of interest could there possibly be in New York?!”

“I—” Beth begins, before Marion cuts her off again. 

“She’s been out there for, what? Two days? And he’s already proposed to her?! She’s not _that_ pretty – or interesting, for that matter.” Marion takes a deep breath and tilts her head back, looking contemplative. “Maybe it’s a curse – she must have bewitched him. I always suspected she was half demon.”

“I like her,” Celina declares, taking no notice of the glare Marion throws her way. “And after what happened to John, it’s nice that she’s getting a second chance.”

Beth nods her head in agreement, but Marion isn’t to be deterred. 

“Well, she should have chosen a different second chance, then,” she says, squinting down at her phone. “She knew she had competition, so she planned this. Mark my words.” 

“If nothing else, I suppose this confirms that Lydia also knows the art of engaging someone in casual conversation,” Celina quips. “First John, and now Alec Lightwood...”

This only serves to set Marion off again. “Spare me that – she’s a complete _bore!_ All this means is that there are fewer suitable matches in New York than even I suspected. Alec must have been desperate, the poor thing.” Her expression sours further, and she holds her phone up. “Ella’s cousin is helping plan the wedding, so she’s sending me updates. Apparently Alec is stalking around, frowning at everyone.”

“Maybe that’s just— how he usually looks?” Beth carefully suggests, remembering the somber boy she sometimes used to pass by in the hallways of the Academy. 

“Oh please, you can’t tell me he never _smiles_.”

“Some people are all business,” Celina says. “When my mother and I visited, his sister gave us a tour of the Institute and we happened to run into him in the armory. He was very— efficient in his manner. Definitely didn’t seem very prone to smiling. Maybe celebrations simply escape him?”

“Well, then _Lydia Branwell_ definitely isn’t one to help him learn to appreciate them!” Marion declares. “Can you imagine her hosting any kind of ceremony? Ugh, how formal and _dreary_ it’d be!”

“He must have been eager to marry, in any case. Seeing as he proposed so soon after she arrived.”

“Yes, well—” Marion stabs at her cheesecake. “I might still go to New York. Attend the wedding, maybe. Daddy could easily arrange an invitation for me. Maybe I’ll show Alec Lightwood that there are better options than the Branwells.”

“You want to crash the wedding?” Beth can’t keep the surprise out of her voice. 

Marion pouts. “It might be romantic. I’ll walk in, he’ll turn around and see me, I’ll take his breath away...”

“And then he’ll kick Lydia out and marry you instead?” Celina laughs. “Right then and there?”

“No, of course not! Like I would get married in a ceremony _Lydia Branwell_ had a hand in planning! Angel forbid!” Marion shudders. “It’ll probably be all white – like a funeral. Alec Lightwood deserves some color in his life, and who better to introduce it to him than—” she gestures to herself “— _moi?_ ”

“On his wedding day,” Celina dryly retorts, “to another woman.”

“You know what they say, darling,” Marion says, cutting a tiny piece off her cheesecake. “Better late than never.”

  
**iii.**

“How about Olof Håvarstein?” Beth suggests. “I hear he’s visiting Idris next month.”

“You can’t be serious. And go live in that little shack they call the Oslo Institute?! I’d rather die an old maid right here in Alicante!” Marion pauses. “Not that it would ever come to that, of course.”

Next to her on the table her phone chirps with an incoming text. It’s face down, so Beth can’t see who the sender is, but judging by the look of disdain on Marion’s face, she’s well aware. 

“Ella,” Marion proclaims, “ _insists_ on keeping me up to date with today’s— _activities_. She’s being cruel, and I will block her if she keeps this up.”

“Ah, is the wedding today?” Celina takes a sip of her tea, like both she and Beth don’t know the reason for Marion calling for an emergency get-together on a Wednesday. 

Beth’s honestly quite impressed that Marion managed to get her usual table on such short notice. 

“Oh, be quiet – you know it is,” Marion replies, still eyeing her phone. “I don’t know why she bothered portaling to New York today of all days. She told me it was because she hasn’t seen her cousin in ages – ha! A likely excuse! I swear, she does these things just to vex me!”

She reaches for her phone, having seemingly lost whatever inner battle she’d been engaged in, and swipes across the screen to unlock it. 

“The groom’s wearing white,” she says with a snort, and then, as the phone chirps with another text, “as is the bride. I knew it! Did I not tell you?”

“You did,” Beth admits.

“So predictable,” Marion mutters, and proceeds to type out what looks like a lengthy response – probably something unflattering about the size of Ella’s somewhat prominent nose, which everyone knows is a rather sore topic. 

Beth tears a piece off her chocolate croissant and watches Marion’s fingers peck away at the screen. She doubts that insults will actually stop Ella from sending updates; knowing Ella, she’ll look at them as a personal challenge and bombard Marion with as many texts as she can, most of which will probably involve details about Lydia’s dress or hair, designed to cause Marion the most upset possible. 

Another text luckily arrives before Marion has time to complete her reply. Whatever the message says, it must have been pretty sensational because Marion abruptly stops typing as it grabs her attention.

“Well,” she smirks, “it would seem that things might finally turn interesting. A _man_ just barged in. Looks like dear Lydia has kept herself quite busy during her stay.”

Beth exchanges a surprised look with Celina. “He’s not— trying to stop the wedding, is he? Maybe he’s just late?”

Another barrage of messages arrive as Marion erases the scathing reply she had been about to send Ella, and instead she starts typing away anew, shaking her head. “Ella can’t say. He hasn’t spoken a word – apparently he’s just standing in the aisle, staring at the bride.” Marion laughs as another text comes in. “Oh! But Maryse Lightwood just called him a _Warlock!_ Can you _imagine?!_ How scandalous!” The unrestrained glee in her voice is clear to anyone who bothers to listen. 

_Warlock_ , Celina mouths at Beth, who shrugs, because as far as she knows Lydia isn’t one to fraternize with Downworlders, and especially not Warlocks, not after what happened to John.

“Maryse is trying to get the Warlock to leave,” Marion informs them. “Understandable. Oh, she must be mortified!” Then she frowns as another text arrives. “Ella thinks the Warlock said Alec’s name, but she probably heard wrong – if only her ears were as big as her nose! Unless—” Marion tilts her head, considering. “Unless, of course, the Warlock’s looking to challenge Alec for Lydia. Not that I could imagine why either of them would bother with that. Oh! A picture!” 

Marion turns her phone around so that they can see the latest message, which shows a somewhat blurry image taken from the back of a large room. The angle of the shot is tilted, like the person who took the photo leaned around a corner or out from behind a pillar and quickly snapped the picture, but despite the quality of the image, Beth can still make out the details of the flowers lining the deep red carpet leading up to the altar. 

She can also clearly see the confusion gracing the faces of the wedding guests seated along the aisle as they all turn to look over their shoulders at the real focus of the picture, which is Maryse Lightwood standing in the middle of the aisle, glaring up at a tall man. The man’s back is to the camera, making it impossible to judge the expression on his face, but Beth can tell that he’s there to make some kind of statement; his shoulders are squared, his head held high, and there’s red in his hair and in the tint of his suit – she thinks she can even make out the glint of several heavy rings adorning the fingers of both his hands.

Even if Ella hadn’t already mentioned that Maryse called him a Warlock, Beth believes she would probably have been able to guess as much anyway, if only because of the boldness of both the man’s gesture and his appearance. 

Another text arrives, and then two more in rapid succession, and Marion snatches her phone back. “Here we go! The happy couple are whispering to each other and— Oh! Alec’s stepping away! He’s headed back down the isle!” Marion pouts. “Who would have known this would be so exciting? I _knew_ I should’ve asked Daddy to get me an invitation!”

Beth finds herself feeling rather sorry for Lydia, actually, and is about to say as much, when Marion’s phone gives another chirp, and Marion’s expression turns from childishly disappointed to outright incredulous.

Celina sets her tea cup down. “What is it? What happened?”

Marion’s mouth drops open before she quickly shuts it again. “I don’t—” she says, and then, “This can’t be right…”

She turns the phone towards them and it’s— another picture, again taken as if by someone peeking around a corner, except this time Alec’s there, up front and center, and he’s got the man – the Warlock – tugged up close against his chest, hands gripping the lapels of the Warlock’s jacket, and Alec’s— 

He’s kissing the Warlock. 

Yes, Beth decides, that is definitely a picture of a rather deep kiss. The Warlock has his head tilted back slightly, because Alec’s definitely grown taller since she last saw him, and they both have their eyes closed; the tension that was present in the Warlock’s shoulders in the first picture is gone now, and instead he suddenly looks utterly relaxed, content with letting Alec kiss him – because in the moment in time that the picture captures, it is obviously Alec that is kissing the Warlock, not the other way around, and his intent is unmistakable, knuckles of his hands white with the amount of force that he’s using to hold the other man in place against his chest. 

Celina gives a sudden, startled laugh. “It _is_ always the quiet ones!” she gasps, and Marion yanks the phone away and slams it face down onto the table, were it starts to alert them to more incoming texts – Ella, Beth suspect, most likely eager to report on what must be an explosive aftermath. 

“Didn’t I tell you?! She does this just to vex me!” Marion stuffs a fork full of cheesecake into her mouth, furiously chewing as the phone continues to chirp. 

  
**iv.**

They’re still clearing away the debris – still pulling bodies out of the rubble – when the news of the wedding reaches them. 

Beth hears more than one Shadowhunter refer to it as tasteless, though she’s not quite sure if they mean the location – the New York Institute – or the fact that it’s so soon after the attack on Alicante. 

“It brings hope for something new,” Celina states. She wipes at her brow, dirty blonde hair sticking to the sweat running down the side of her face, before tugging her gloves back on. “We can all use that right now. Something to celebrate.”

Taking in the destruction all around them – looking down at the bricks and concrete they’re attempting to clear from the husk of a building that used to be the de Warenne family home – Beth can’t but agree. 

“And it’s a smart move, holding it at the Institute,” Celina continues as she dislodges a large rebar from the debris. “It sends a message – the right kind, too. He’ll be a good Institute Head.”

Beth sighs. “I wonder what Marion would’ve thought about all this,” she muses, chest feeling rather tight, because they still haven’t found her, though not for a lack of searching.

“Marion,” Celina says, “would have been planning a trip to New York so that she could be the one to interrupt the ceremony this time.” She shoots Beth a wry grin. “She’d be eager to test out her theory that Alec’s preferences aren’t for men _or_ women, but rather for wedding crashers. Now help me with this plank.”

Beth laughs, startled by Celina’s candor, but does as asked. 

There won’t be any pictures shared this time around, but Beth has no doubt that with the help of a Warlock – a _High Warlock_ , at that – the ceremony will be absolutely beautiful. 

  
**v.**

Less than a year after Alicante is nearly leveled to the ground, Alec Lightwood-Bane is named Inquisitor. 

It’s not an unexpected move given the amount of change he has managed to accomplish during his short tenure as Head of the New York Institute, but it is unprecedented in that Alec is not yet out of his twenties – there has never been an Inquisitor as young or as capable as this. 

With him to Idris, Alec brings his husband, now the High Warlock of Alicante. Such a position is needed now, because Alicante’s gates have been thrown open for all and sundry to enter if they so wish, and Beth finds herself marveling at Seelies with flowers in their hair dancing barefoot in the city’s parks, and beautifully dressed Warlocks giving in to the requests of the children in the streets, entertaining them with small yet magnificent bursts of fireworks cupped in the palms of their hands. 

Alicante has always felt vibrant and alive, but suddenly Beth finds herself living in a melting pot of color and magic, and she wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

She and Celina take to meeting at a small café not far from where the building that housed _Restinctio_ had once stood, continuing the biweekly tradition Marion had started. This used to be one of the more exclusive parts of the city, but as it turns out all buildings look the same when leveled, and what rose out of the ashes the demons from the rift left behind is different from what was originally razed. There’s no longer any room for inequality in Alicante. 

“Look,” Celina says now, ten or so minutes after they’ve been seated at their table for two, and points at something over Beth’s shoulder. 

It’s a beautiful summer day, which means that they’ve chosen a table outside, so when Beth turns around she can easily spot Alec – the Inquisitor himself – in the distance, walking down the narrow cobbled street alongside his husband. 

They’re holding hands as they walk in step with each other, dressed casually like all the other citizens out for a stroll – or, rather, Alec appears casually dressed in his jeans and t–shirt, while the High Warlock has chosen to wear a flamboyant style of jacket in a soft palette of purple pastels that match the streaks in his hair. The cut of his jacket is new to Beth, but she has no doubt it will be all the rage in Alicante once the day is over. 

The High Warlock appears animated, touching Alec’s arm to draw his attention whenever he catches sight of something interesting in a store window, and the expression on Alec’s face is soft and fond as he looks down at his husband. He's wearing a smile that never appears to dim, not even when they come to a stop outside one of the shops and the Warlock disappears inside, leaving Alec alone in the street to enjoy the sunshine. 

It doesn’t take long for the Warlock to pop back out, and Alec immediately reaches for him again, reminding Beth of a little boy as he patiently waits, hand stretched out, as the Warlock magics his most recent purchase away. Once the Warlock is free to accept Alec’s hand again, he intertwines their fingers and says something that makes Alec laugh, and is promptly rewarded with a kiss to the temple – the Warlock closes his eyes and leans into the gesture, like a cat being shown affection, and once Alec pulls away the look they share is one of total contentment – like in this moment, in each other’s company and by each other’s side, they want for absolutely nothing. 

Beth tears herself away from the display and turns back around in her seat, feeling rather like a voyeur for having watched the two of them for so long. 

“She never would have stood a chance,” she finds herself saying, looking down at her cheesecake. 

“No, but it would have been fun to watch her try.” Celina sounds wistful, and Beth reaches out to take her hand, curling her fingers around her friend’s. 

“Yes,” Beth replies, giving Celina’s hand a quick press, and feels her return the gesture. “It would have.”


End file.
